


Laptop

by Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge



Series: Sam and Jack (AKA: the Jam Fam) [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13.06 coda, And I think it probably shows, Angst with a Happy Ending, Changed to five chapters (not three) because I am apparently incapable of keeping things brief, Heads up: the latter two chapters aren't entirely Dean friendly, I have not forgiven him for the abuse he threw at Jack, Jack is an innocent puppy, Just... probably don't read it if you don't like to read about Dean's bad side, Sam is an awesome dad, Title will likely be changed later, Well... that and I'm generally quite critical of his attitude concerning Sam anyway, When I come up with something half decent to call it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12784092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge/pseuds/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge
Summary: Jack has been using Castiel's laptop. When the Angel returns, though, Sam reasons that he should get Jack one of his own. A little memento, of sorts.... Unfortunately, as is typically the case, things don't exactly go to plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So a friend on tumblr (Eruthiwenluin in case you wanna check out her blog) made a kinda throwaway comment wondering whose laptop Jack was using in 'Tombstone' and my brain kind of... took the idea and ran off with it, aided by Eru's evil little prodding.  
> Anyway, I hope you guys like this little brainchild and, as always, please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think. ^_^  
> (The next two chapters will be posted over the course of the next few days)

The first laptop started out being more about practicality than anything else. They had just returned to the bunker for the first time after- Well, just _after_. Cas was gone, and Jack was here, and Jack deserved some way to entertain himself, for those times outside of training, because expecting him to just sit in silence all the time would have just been cruel. It wasn’t until he told the kid that the laptop had originally been Castiel’s that he _truly_ understood the _precise_ nature of the task he had undertaken.

Because, where Sam had just seen a painful reminder of a lost friend, Jack had seen a single, tenuous link to the father his mother had chosen for him. A memento of a father he would never have an opportunity to know. And the look on that young face- so young yet already so familiar with the dark taint of a Hunter’s world- had been more than enough for Sam to just _know_.

Jack was _his_ to protect now. Not just for Castiel. Or for Mom. Or for the safety of the world. But because _Jack deserved better_. Because _Jack deserved a family_.

\---

That was then. And this was now. And _now_ Castiel was back. Jack had his father. They had each other. And Sam, while happy, couldn’t quite banish the bitter feeling in the depths of his chest. The slow, sinking sensation of dread. The tiny voice whispering in his mind, reminding him over and over that _Jack didn’t need him anymore_.

And that? That hurt.

Despite his better judgement. Despite his own joy over Cas’ return. Despite his happiness on both Jack’s and Cas’ behalves. It still hurt. To think that this _one_ connection he had somehow come to cherish so much was suddenly going to be gone.

So call it stupid, or call it sentimentality, but for some reason or other… he wanted to give Jack something to remember him by.

…Which was why he found himself, shortly after checking in, excusing himself from the hotel (under the pretext of checking out the neighbourhood), trekking over to the city’s Sears and immersing himself in the computer section. Less than thirty minutes later (because he knew computers, and he also knew he hated browsing for long periods of time) he left the store again, brand new laptop firmly in his possession.

He didn’t reveal it to anyone when he got back, though, choosing instead to tuck it safely into his duffel for now. When they finished the case, he could present it to Jack as a sign of congratulations, and then they could all move on with their lives. Cas and Jack would likely head off to do their own stuff, and Dean would feel better now that the “Anti-Christ” (a term he _still_ insisted on using even though he _knew_ it was inaccurate) was out of their hands, and Sam… well, Sam would just have to forget how it had felt to have a (kind of) son of his own.

They would move on. And he would make do. That was the plan. And, in the meantime, if he got the chance to arrange the partnerships so he got to spend just a little time around Jack alone, to reassure himself that the kid would be okay? Well, then, he would take that chance gladly.

And, for a short time, things went well. Relatively speaking.

…And then Jack tried to help, and the guard stepped out at just the wrong moment, and suddenly Sam’s own feelings didn’t seem all that important anymore.

And he tried. Both he _and_ Cas. They tried in the car. They tried _again_ when they reached the Bunker. But it was too soon, and Jack wasn’t ready to hear it, so they sat instead where they knew Jack would be able to see them- to _reach out to them_ \- at any time, and waited for the moment when Jack (when _his son_ , that traitorous voice still whispered) was ready to hear that _he wasn’t a monster_. That _a mistake didn’t mean he was evil_.

…They forgot to take into account that Jack could fly.

\---

The first night was the hardest. That’s what he’d always heard.

What a load of crap.

Because the pain and the worry? They didn’t fade or go away. They just got worse. Cas left, deciding that doing _something_ was better than just sitting around feeling useless. And Sam? Sam did what he did best. He researched. He searched online. He used every virtual tracking method he could think of.

And still nothing.

And it felt, especially after Mom, kind of like it did whenever Dean died- like some part of him had been ripped away, and like he could never breathe _quite_ right, and like the entire world was just that tiniest bit dimmer in the weight of what he had lost. The only positive thing was that Dean (while his reasons were different) also thought Jack needed to be found and, as such, never questioned Sam about either his motives or his urgency outside of merely saying that he should “at least take a break while we’re on a damn Hunt, Sammy. Geez, you’d think you were actually _worried_ about the kid or something. You forgetting that he can’t even be hurt?”

Sam didn’t bother to remind him that lasting injuries weren’t the only indicator of pain.

He also didn’t bother to tell him that ‘ _worried_ ’ didn’t even come _close_.

\---

It wasn’t until they returned from their third Hunt (a simple salt-n-burn in Western Colorado Dean had kind of enjoyed because the widower had practically plied them with home-made pies in gratitude) that Sam even _thought_ about the laptop again. But he needed a change of clothes (because he’d been kind of remiss on the laundry front lately) and, while digging around, his fingers pressed against the cool, hard plastic.

He couldn’t think of the last time he’d been so close to breaking over someone who was still (because Jack _was_ \- he _had_ to be) still alive.

In somewhat of a daze, Sam moved the couple of steps over to his desk, setting the laptop down almost on autopilot and opening it up, logging in to the as yet un-password-protected main account. Before he even really knew what he was doing, an empty document was open on the screen, and his fingers were dancing their way back and forth across the keyboard.

‘ _Jack,_ ’ they typed, ‘ _I don’t know if you’ll ever read this- or even why I’m doing it, really. But video messages are your mother’s legacy, and I don’t want to intrude on that. Well, that and Dean would probably take the piss out of me for_ weeks _if he ever found me making one. I just… I miss you, Jack. And I understand why you left- I really do- but I still wish you were here. I’m looking for you, and so is Cas, and even Dean’s doing his bit here and there, but in the meantime… just be safe, Jack. Please.’_

After saving it, he closed the laptop again, and that was that.

\---

Or, at least, it _should_ have been that.

Instead, the messages became a regular thing. Every day (sometimes twice a day) he would make a new one- some short, some longer and more detailed, but always just… honest. Yes. Maybe that was the best word for them.

Honest.

‘ _We got a call from Cas today. He said he saw someone who was wearing that same jacket you were when you… left. He knew it wasn’t you, of course, but he said that still didn’t stop him from going over anyway. Just in case._

_…I just realised you didn’t take any clothes with you. I hope you’ve found somewhere to wash yours, or maybe a few new sets. Be safe, Jack.’_

_-_

_‘Jack, I’m sorry. That night you left, I stepped back, and I know what that looked like. But I’m not scared of you, Jack. I promise. I’ve had a lot of bad experiences over the past few years, and I don’t always react well to confrontational tones or snapped words because of it. But it wasn’t because of you or your powers, Jack. I hope you know that. You are_ not _a monster, Jack. A couple of mistakes don’t change that, and I’m sorry if I made you think they did. I’m sorry I didn’t do more to help you understand that.’_

_-_

_‘I nearly stepped on your pencil earlier. It had fallen on the floor next to your usual chair. I’ve put it in your room for you- just in case you want it when you get back.’_

_-_

_‘Did I ever tell you that I tried some tracking spells on you, in those first few days? None of them worked. I have this theory that it was because you didn’t want to be found, so your powers protected you. Some of the ingredients are a bit hard to come by, but I’ve decided I’ll keep trying. At least once a week. That way, when you’re ready to be around us again, we’ll be able to get to you fairly quickly, even if something bad has happened to you.’_

_-_

_‘Jack, I told you that mistakes don’t make you a monster. Perhaps I should have told you_ why _I know that. You see, I’ve probably made more mistakes- and_ bigger _mistakes- then you’ll_ ever _be able to make. If you come back, maybe I’ll be able to tell you about a few of them.’_

_-_

_‘You know what, maybe I don’t_ need _to wait until we’re face to face to tell you. So here are just a few of my mistakes:’_ (That one was _particularly_ long, spanning five whole pages. And still he didn’t manage to get past some of the biggest, most obvious ones. He could only hope that Jack wouldn’t think less of him when he read it.)

-

_‘Wherever you are out there, Jack, I hope you’re doing alright. Come back whenever you feel ready.’_

_-_

_‘Please be safe.’_

\---

And so it continued. Day in, day out. He took to keeping the laptop in Jack’s room, just on the off-chance Dean wandered into his own uninvited and happened to get curious (or mischievous) enough to poke around a bit.

Until, three months, fifteen days and eighteen hours after Jack disappeared…

…

…

…

Sam was taken.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean *really* doesn't like it when people take his possessions. Especially when the "people" are Angels and the "possession" in question is his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... just in case the tags weren't enough warning, the fic from here on is pretty highly critical of Dean. He has a very warped view of certain things, and he tends to react... poorly... when things go badly, and I am not one to shy away from that side of his personality (there's nothing worse than anything we've seen in canon, though). If that doesn't sound like something you want to read, I would advise you to search for something more suited to your tastes. You have been warned.
> 
> Anyway, as always, if you have the time and/or the inclination, please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think. Thanks for reading! ^_^

It was Angels that did it.

Of course it was. Because what parts of their lives _weren’t_ constantly getting caught up in the shitstorm that was Heaven these days?

Anyway, he didn’t know _how_ they’d done it- or when- but apparently some of the junkless dicks had developed their brains just enough to have been able to fix up their mojo a bit and get a few of them their wings back.

And what was the first thing they _did_ with those wings?

Kidnap Sam, of course. Because apparently there was some sort of universal conspiracy which meant Dean had to have his brother taken from him Every. Damn. Year.

The real kick in the pants, though, was the bullshit reason the Angels gave. Heaven must have got their wires _seriously_ crossed somewhere down the line, because they seemed to _honestly_ think that taking _Sam_ , of all people, would lead Jack straight to their doorstep. Like the son of a bitch would _actually_ care enough about Sam being in their clutches to put _himself_ in harm’s way.

Yeah right.

Damn it, Dean had _known_ nothing good would come from taking in the god-damned Spawn of Satan. He’d just assumed, though, that the damage done would be _by_ him, not _because_ of him.

Bursting full tilt out of the garage and into the Bunker proper, Dean ran a hasty, panicked sweep of the place first, heart pounding a rhythm-less drumbeat into his throat all the while, as he hoped beyond all hope that Sam, against all odds, had somehow managed to wheedle _himself_ out of danger for once.

As expected, though, no such luck.

The crunch which echoed through the hallways was almost- _almost-_ as satisfying as the sudden sharp pain splintering out from where his knuckles met the wall. The ache was good. Kept him sharp. Focused his mind. Drawing in a deep breath and closing his eyes, he centered himself around the sensation, concentrating on what he would need to do.

Call Cas. Let him know what was going on.

Call Jody. Tell her to keep an eye out.

Figure out Sam’s latest password so he could see if any of the fancy-ass programmes Sam had set up to search for Jack could be used to find _him_ instead.

Hit up every god-damned source he had until he tracked those sons of bitches down and _shanked_ their asses for taking away what was his.

And, finally, re-remind Heaven that, when you mess with Winchesters, things _really_ don’t end pretty for you.

\---

As it turned out, though, some things were easier said than done. Dean was pretty proud of the fact that he was one hell of a Hunter. Stick him in any town in the US and he could track down the nearest Hunt and have it solved and sorted within a week pretty much every single time. Give him anything _close_ to the right tools and he could build you the EMF reader to beat all EMF readers in no time flat. Computers, though? Computers had always been more Sam’s thing. And the dude must have been doing some _serious_ boosting to his skill sets, because (even after trying out the stuff Frank had taught him) Dean _still_ couldn’t for the life of him make even the _smallest_ of headway in changing the purpose of the tracking systems Sam had set up after Jack hauled ass.

Which meant point three of his plan resulted in a big, fat _zero_ on the results front.

And points one, two and four hadn’t exactly led to much in the way of progress, either.

In short, by the time the twelve day mark rolled around and not even a _starting_ location had reared its ugly head, Dean was practically bouncing off the walls, half out of his mind with a blend of worry and anger which was all too familiar at this point in his life. So, in an effort to calm his frazzled nerves, he turned to his near life-long source of comfort.

Alcohol. Not enough to impact his mental abilities, but just enough to dull his senses that perfect amount.

Later on, though, the alcohol turned out to be a pretty solid excuse for his response turning out _quite_ as violently as it did when, in a flurry of wings and garbled questions, Jack reappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack returns to the bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter does not exactly show the best side of Dean.   
> Also, Jack is an innocent, guilt-ridden puppy who deserves to be loved.  
> And, before I forget, I ended up extending this to five chapters (or, well, four and an epilogue) instead of three, because otherwise this chapter would have turned out way longer than I like for a tumblr ficlet.  
> Lastly, huge thanks to those leaving kudos/comments! I really hope you like this chapter! ^_^

Jack never intended to go back, as much as he wanted to. The four months he’d spent flitting from location to location, dodging Angels every step along the way, was probably a pretty good indicator of that. He’d seen what he could do now, after all- seen how easy it was for him to reign down destruction on someone’s life with just one little mistake. He couldn’t risk that happening to anyone else.

And especially not his family.

He’d already scared them enough.

So he ran instead- always to the most remote locations he could find- the ones with the least amount of people around he could hurt. The least danger of reaction-causing surprises. Never too long in one place, though- if he had learnt anything from the books and shows Sam had introduced him to, it was that staying put was what got you caught. And _that_ was something he couldn’t risk.

He still trained, though. Even though he hated his powers. Even though the memory of that guard’s unnaturally still body caused nausea to rise up in his throat every single time. Because Sam had said that training his powers would mean less accidents, and accidents just weren’t a risk Jack was willing to take anymore. And because that incident with the knife had taught him that taking himself out of the equation altogether wasn’t actually an option, even if it _would_ make things easier for everyone involved.

Not unless Dean eventually succeeded in finding a way to kill him, anyway.

The Angels caught up in the end, though- two heavenly voices ripping through him in excruciating pules of electricity, driving him to his knees as shock after shock rolled agonisingly through his head until he was struggling to even hear the words which were spilling out of their human mouths.

It wasn’t until he’d finally managed to send them away- a shaky etching of the symbol Sam had taught him painted in his own blood on the floor next to his still-shaking hand- that his mind finally cleared enough to make sense of their taunting declarations.

“You try anything, Nephilim, and we’ll make sure you _never_ get your precious Winchester back.”

\---

He was back in the bunker in an instant, terror coursing through Grace-tainted veins as he flew from room to room, not wanting to believe it. Not _daring_ to believe-

“Dean? Is it true?”

He didn’t expect the sharp, sudden movements or the fists clenching tightly into the front of his shirt, half-hoisting him off of the floor and mere inches away from fury-filled forest-green eyes. He didn’t expect the accusations- hissed, growled and bellowed in turn- that this whole situation was _his_ fault, or the two broken lamps and scattered piles of books which accompanied the allegations. He didn’t expect that, even after saying what he had said before Jack had left, Dean was still capable of sending just as much instinctual fear shooting through his body as the Angels were.

But, even though his hands shook with the continued influx of vitriol, Jack didn’t let his control over his powers slip even _once_. Not even to run. He deserved this, he knew. Every word. Every threat. Every aborted gesture.

Because Dean was right. This _was_ his fault. Despite all his efforts, Sam was in danger. Because of _him_.

Which was why, even after Dean all but spat in his face in his adamant declaration that he _didn’t need Jack’s help to save his own brother, you sonofabitch_ , Jack didn’t give up.

He just relocated.

\---

He tried to go to Sam first, of course. Just think and fly, the way he had for all of the places he had travelled through in the past months. But when that failed- when, for some reason he couldn’t fathom (and which had his blood freezing under the sudden fear that _Sam could already be dead_ )- the bunker proved to be the next best option. He couldn’t bear to stay in Sam’s room for longer than the second it took to tell that the lack of the Hunter’s presence left the tiny space feeling alien and bare, but his own room served as a decent enough second choice.

He didn’t expect what he found there to leave him spellbound.

\---

When he finally emerged, several hours later, Sam’s gift clutched tightly to his chest and heart filled with so many emotions he couldn’t even _begin_ to put names to them all, he made his way determinedly back to Dean, no longer allowing his fear to freeze him. His heart still thundered painfully under the Hunter’s unrelenting glare, but instead of wilting he drew himself up instead and forced himself to look Dean dead in the eye.

“I have an idea.”

\---

Castiel (and was it horribly selfish of him that, even with all that was going on, he still felt happy to be back in his father’s presence?) didn’t like it, of course. And wasn’t shy in making that one hundred percent clear, either. But, even though Jack understood his father’s reluctance, he refused to back down. Sam was in this situation because of _him_ , and he would do _anything_ to right that wrong- hell, he would still do it even if it _wasn’t_ his fault. And, faced with such stubbornness (especially after Dean added his own approval of the idea), Castiel was left with no choice but to relent. After all, if anyone understood the necessity of reckless, foolhardy plans every now and then, it was this family.

And so, with everyone finally on board, the plan slowly came together. They would get Sam back.

And Jack would be the bait.

\---

Less than twenty-four hours later, the car was loaded up, the location was set, and everyone was ready to head out.

Which was precisely when Dean’s phone rang.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is a man with a plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably give you a heads up: I have never been to any of the locations mentioned in this chapter. I relied entirely on short bursts of research and google maps. If anything seems off, that's why, and please feel free to correct me.
> 
> (On the plus side, Dean's negative Deanisms aren't particularly strong this chapter. Yay!)
> 
> And, finally, *huge* thanks to all kudos/comment leavers! ^_^ I really hope you enjoy this chapter and, as always, feel free to drop a review if you have the time/inclination. ^_^ )

Sam was starting to get really fed up with getting kidnapped. Seriously- did he have some kind of sign across his forehead which only their potential enemies could see or something? ‘ _Kidnap me! Useful punching bag/bargaining chip free for the taking!’_ Because, honestly speaking, it would make a lot more sense than half the other crap which had happened in his life. He was the demon-blooded, occasionally-psychic, former vessel of Satan and Man ( _Person?_ ) of Letters, and was currently in the middle of finding the Devil’s half-human biological infant-who-doesn’t-look-like-an-infant offspring because some idiotic part of him refused to see said offspring as anything other than _his_ son (which, put that way, sounded horribly creepy and stockholm-syndrome-ish, but somehow actually wasn't). Being officially branded a kidnapee would kind of be par for the course at this point.

Still, as far as captivity went, he supposed things could have been worse. Yes he had the standard cuffs on. And yes he was kept inside a doorless, windowless room with only a bed, a toilet and… well… pretty much nothing else. Again. But at least the bed was comfortable. And at least there was usually at least one Angel present, despite the fact that (disregarding the times they actually deigned to answer his questions directly) they were smart enough to speak in what sounded like a blend of different languages from around the world, so it wasn’t as difficult to keep his mind occupied as it had been during those months in solitary. Plus he got food regularly and nobody seemed interested in ripping his lungs out so… yeah. That was always a plus.

Not that any of that made him any less pissed. Or any less vigilant. Especially after, on the second day, said vigilance paid off in the form of none of the angels knowing that he understood enough spoken Hebrew now (thank you, Aaron) to, even through the rapid-fire speech, make out such words as ‘Nephilim’ (at least, he assumed it was ‘nephilim’ and not ‘giant’ or ‘nipple’) and ‘trap.’

Well screw that. Sam might have been a mess of disaster and disappointment wrapped up in a human(ish) meat sack, but god help him if he ended up being responsible for these dicks harming even one more hair on Jack’s head.

So he watched.

He waited.

He planned.

After living so long in the Bunker, and reading so much about its protections, he knew enough about the spell-work marking the walls of ‘his’ room to be able to tell it would keep Dean from locating him via any magical means.

But he also knew enough to be certain that he could escape.

Unfortunately, it was kind of hard to make his move when there were always (and he literally meant _always_ \- privacy when peeing meant absolutely _nothing_ to celestials) eagle-like eyes watching his every move.

On day twelve, though (assuming his internal clock hadn’t been blown all to hell), he finally got his chance. A fourth Angel appeared in a flutter of wings, his (if Sam was going by the vessel’s presented gender) anxious tone drawing the others’ attention for the full twenty seconds he needed to confirm they weren’t looking his way, slide the small penknife out of his boot, slice across the tip of his right index finger and trace a ridiculously familiar symbol onto the headboard he’d been propped up against for the past three hours. By the time any of them started to look back, it was already too late.

With the Angels gone, he didn’t waste any time. Pulling up his shirt (along with the two tops he had layered underneath- and _god_ was he in severe need of a shower or what?), he lightly carved a second symbol into the flesh of his stomach, using blood from that to paint the third across the emptiest wall. A short chant in Tamil, courtesy of the Men of Letters’ Soul Magic, and the wall blasted open to reveal…

…a hospital.

Oh.

Old and _definitely_ long since abandoned it may have been, but for some reason ‘hospital’ hadn’t been what he’d pictured as the number one choice for a Heavenly Hostage-taking scenario.

Ah well. He should just be glad he wasn’t in the middle of a volcano or something.

Stumbling slightly at first as he waited for the fatigue from the spell to wear off, Sam made his way along hallways and down stairs which _definitely_ weren’t up to modern safety standards, eventually making it out into the endless tweeting and dappled sunlight of… a forest? Somewhere?

Or… maybe not? The trees directly in front of him didn’t seem to go on for too long at least. And there was a tower peering through the treetops off to the left which looked strangely familiar.

Shaking off his curiosity, he took a few steps forward, then-

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me. _Now_?!”

…Luckily, it didn’t take too long to deal with the ghost- a twenty-eight year old also named Sam who had found their way here after bribing a local with five hundred euro, only to trip over one of the many vines and break their neck, and who passed on after Sam promised to inform their family of what had become of them. And, in the process, he also found out where exactly he was.

Poveglia. Otherwise known as the most haunted island in the world.

At least it explained why he recognised the bell tower.

It also meant, though, that he had to swim 800 or so metres through the Venetian Lagoon as quickly as he could (the clock was counting down the moments until those Angels managed to make their way back to start looking for him again, and a single solitary figure cutting through the water would be kind of an obvious marker even _with_ Castiel’s rib carvings still in effect), then walk several kilometres along Lido under the late afternoon sun until he finally succeeded in locating an atm. Luckily water didn’t affect credit cards and, after bribing a local of his own to get him across to Venice without too many questions asked, he managed to find first a bottle of fresh water and then an international payphone.

The beat of silence after the dial-tone got cut off felt like an eternity. Then-

“Dean Winchester. Business or pleasure?”

“Dean. It’s me.”

Another beat.

“Catflap.”

“Jellybean.”

“Sam?! What the hell, man? How-?”

Before Sam could reply, though, another voice cut through Dean’s exclamations. “That’s Sam? Is he okay? Where is he?”

And suddenly Sam didn’t care so much about the crowd of disgruntled tourists eating ice-creams just five feet away, muttering audibly as they glared at him about ‘disgusting people. I swear they’re everywhere you turn these days.’ In fact, the big guy in the middle of the group could have been lobbing _boulders_ his way and he _still_ wouldn’t have cared a bit.

“You found Jack? When? Where? Is he alright? Does Cas know?”

“ _Yes_ , he’s fine,” Dean cut in (and Sam could picture the _exact_ eye roll). “Christ, it’s like surround sound or something here.” There was a moment of near-silence, the sound of a hand being batted away the only thing echoing down the line. “He turned up last night- heard the not-so-wingless Dicks had you and volunteered to be bait. Cas is here, too.”

“That’s- wait, _bait?_ ”

“Whatever, man. Obviously not happening now. Now where the hell are you? I can drive down- meet you half way or something.”

Sam glanced around at the cobbled streets. “Yeah… about that…”

Two minutes and twenty-six seconds after he’d finished explaining the general situation and worked out roughly where he was in comparison to the landmarks he could see, the flutter of wings sounded from behind him, reverberating briefly around the small side-street he’d ducked down. Penknife in hand, Sam spun around-

-and drew up short, speechless in the face of the wide, wet blue eyes staring back at him.

“Sam, I- I’m so sorry. It’s my fault you- I should never have-”

Sam broke in before the kid could continue, recognising all too well the path such a whirlpool of self-blame could lead down if left unchecked. “Hey, hey, this wasn’t your fault, alright? And besides, I’m fine.” Pausing to make sure Jack was taking his words in, he ran his gaze over the younger man, checking for any sign of injury. Nothing obvious (thank god), but still… There was something different there. Something simultaneously more self-assured yet also more obviously open and vulnerable than even _before_ that last day. “What about you? Are you okay? Did the trip help?”

For several seconds, Jack didn’t answer.

Then, in the span of a single blink, he all but threw himself forward, wrapping his arms so tightly around Sam that the taller man stood frozen in surprise, unable to even unpin his arms to even _attempt_ to return the gesture.

“I read your messages,” came the muffled voice, just before Jack pulled back again. “Thank you. They helped.”

A rush of warmth filled Sam’s chest- light and comfort and _pride_ (not just for Jack, but strangely also a little for himself) which buzzed and hummed and _sang_ until they spread throughout his entire body. So all that pain had finally produced _one_ thing of worth, after all. He smiled. “I’m glad.”

Jack just smiled back, eyes alight. “I’m supposed to take you back now. Dean and Castiel are waiting.”

Sam started to reach out to clasp the extended arm. Then he paused, the weight of foreign cash suddenly an anvil in his pocket. He’d already been gone for almost two weeks- another few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right? Especially if they brought back a satisfactory souvenir.

He smiled again- teasing. Light. Conspiratorial.

“What say we grab some ice-cream first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact for the curious: the nephilim/nipple/giant thing is genuine. I looked for the Hebrew for Nephilim and, when translating it back to English in an attempt to double check and hear how it sounds, it came back as nipple, giant or titan. Therefore it is official: Jack is a nipple.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has one more thing he really needs to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note so you don't get confused: 'Tatko' (татко) is, according to google translate, the Macedonian word for 'father.' I thought it fit the characters who use it, and I imagine it first came up when Jack was helping Sam with some Macedonian texts in the Bunker library.

It was an impulse, really. Even though the words had been blossoming inside him since before he had even finished Sam’s messages for the first time. But somehow he knew those messages shouldn’t be spoken about aloud yet, and now Sam was taking a shower and Dean was in the kitchen and Castiel was in the stacks trying to find whether the Bunker held any hints as to how those Angels had repaired their wings, and Sam’s laptop was just… _there_ \- abandoned on a library table. Standing as a reminder of Dean’s attempts to use it in his search.

And suddenly there was only one thing Jack could do.

He kept his words brief, listening all the while for the sound of approaching footsteps but, by the time the soft sound of padding feet reached his ears, he was confident that he had said what most needed to be said. Backing hastily away from the laptop, he reclaimed his usual seat and stayed there, waiting.

Sam paused for a moment when he entered, damp hair still dripping onto the towel he had draped around his shoulders.

“You alright, Jack?”

Jack nodded. “I’m okay. Just thinking.”

It wasn’t a lie. Well, not in that moment, anyway. If he had said as much just a few seconds later, after Sam broke their momentary staring contest with a fond shake of his head and instead moved to sit in front of his laptop, Jack would have been left feeling very guilty over the statement. When Sam’s eyebrows drew up at the sight of the changed screen, sending crinkling ripples across his forehead, it was as though Jack’s heart was measuring out twice as many beats per second as usual. When Sam cast a questioning glance in his direction, air refused to pass through his lungs anymore- be it in _or_ out. When Sam read his words, Jack’s eyes tracked every single one of the myriad of minuscule shifts in expression which passed across the Hunter’s face. And when Sam pulled back and stood once more, his eyes beaming with precisely as much gentle strength as his smile, Jack was powerless to do anything other than (albeit far more awkwardly) mimic the motion.

Then, seemingly in one swift movement, Sam rounded the table (his careful precision a sharp contrast to the violent, storming fury Dean had expressed less than a day before) and laid a tentative hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Jack-” Sam’s smile didn’t fade, but morphed instead into the unique blend of comfort, guidance, consideration and dawning pride Jack had long ago come to associate with the taller man- the one expressed so clearly in his messages. “-it is _definitely_ alright.”

And there was that warmth in his chest again- the rush of relief almost as strong as it had been when he’d first heard that, despite all the odds, Sam was safe.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

\---

And it was as simple as that. Status now settled, Sam had him set up with an email account within just a few minutes, and before the day was even up Jack had already sent his first email- the first of many, as it turned out- thanking the Hunter for the ice-cream (which was easily Jack’s second favourite food now, after nougat) and asking just a few of the many questions he had accrued about the world during his travels. And it didn’t stop there, either. Words came easier, somehow, when he had the time to think them through freely, and the messages continued back and forth from then on, sometimes discussing moral quandries, other times the finer points of Jack’s progress with his powers, and others still simple, asinine topics such as why some humans enjoyed creating daisy chains while others didn’t, or why sometimes washing dishes could be relaxing while at other times it seemed like little more than a nuisance. And on darker days, when Heaven and Hell’s continued attempts to claim him as their own wore him down, and when even Castiel’s claims that he would do great things became too much, Jack would retreat into his room and read through every message- from start to finish- and reassure himself that it was okay. It was okay if he doubted himself, because he had someone who believed in him. It was okay if he stumbled, because he had someone who would never let him fall. It was okay to struggle under the pressure, because he had someone who knew how that felt, and who was willing to share the burden.

Castiel was a fantastic father for an Angel, but it was Sam who taught him what it meant to be human.

\---

The first time Jack called Sam ‘Dad’ out loud it was an accident. Dean choked on his burger. Castiel (or ‘Tatko,’ as Jack had come to refer to him, after some teasing prodding from Sam) showed no surprise beyond the tilt of his head and the raising of his eyebrows. And Mandy, the waitress they had “interviewed” the previous day, paused in her journey past their table, eying them suspiciously.

“I thought you said baby-face here was an intern?”

Sam offered one of his ‘confident yet sensitive reporter’ laughs. “He is,” he lied smoothly. “He didn’t want the paper to take him on just because of me is all, so we haven’t been advertising the whole family angle.”

“Ah, I get it honey-bunch.” Mandy smiled at Jack. “Your secret’s safe with me, baby-face.”

After that (despite Dean’s initial weeks of protest where he railed against what he termed Sam’s ‘thing for freaks and monsters’ and pointed out repeatedly how much danger Sam would be in if Lucifer ever heard of it), there was no point in taking it back (nor any real inclination to), and Sam became ‘Dad’ in more than just their virtual conversations. And, somehow, Jack was certain that the same would have been true even if his mother _hadn’t_ died. It just… _fit_. Even when those conversations became less uncomfortable to speak aloud -which often led to Castiel joining in (partly, Jack suspected, because he was still almost as confused by the world as Jack was, and partly because he seemed to genuinely enjoy talking with them both)- the emails didn’t stop entirely, though.

And, Jack hoped, they never would.

\---

So that was how Jack found his family. And that was how he came to trust that, with his two fathers (and- as long as he didn’t make too many mistakes, at least- his weird, still kind of scary, unpredictable uncle) by his side, there was _nothing_ they wouldn’t be able to overcome.

\---

\---

\---

_Sam,_

_Thank you. Thank you for your messages. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for not giving up on me after I left. Thank you for teaching me. Thank you for accepting me. And thank you for_ still _accepting me even after knowing me put you in so much danger._

 _I thought I was cursed. I thought that, because of what I am and how I came to be, it was impossible for me to bring anything other than evil to this world, and to you. I never knew that there was someone- let alone someone so nearby- who has experienced something so similar, but who still managed to fight against that destiny and do so much good. And now I think… maybe my mother was right. Maybe I_ can _do amazing things. Maybe I_ can _be better. Maybe it_ is _my choice. Maybe, if you help me, I_ can _learn to be who you and Castiel and my mother say you can see in me._

_I know Lucifer made me, and I know that Castiel is my father, but there is one more thing I feel like I know, but I’m not sure whether thinking it makes me bad or ungrateful or selfish:_

_Is it alright if I think of_ you _as my father, too?_

_-Jack_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! While I will most likely end up writing more about the wonderfulness that is Dad Sam and his son Jack in the future, this brings this particular story to a close. Which means, for the last time: Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented or left kudos on this fic, and I really, really hope you enjoyed this epilogue. ^_^


End file.
